Under the Boardwalk
by LadyDivine91
Summary: After overhearing some bad news, Kurt leaves his parents in their hotel room and goes for a walk ... but he gets lost. Eventually he stumbles upon a stranger who points him in the right direction is a number of ways. (Inspired by the beginning of Beaches) Kurt H. Blaine A. Klaine. Kid!fic


Kurt doesn't know where he is.

He didn't expect to get this far.

Of course, he wasn't really thinking when he left. He just needed a break. So he thought, once up and down the boardwalk. That's all. He'd aim for as far as Nathan's Hot Dog stand, turn around and come back. It was a straight shot. No chance of getting lost. This was the same walk they'd taken yesterday. It was a no-brainer. But after a while, everything started to look the same – every store front, every lifeguard station, every food cart.

He'd walked straight! Perfectly straight!

Or so he thought.

He never made it to Nathan's. And now, caught in the bustle of people mobbing the beach, playing carnival games, and eating food he normally wouldn't touch but which smells heavenly to his starving stomach, he has no clue how to get anywhere. He becomes frantic, anxiety welling up within him, filling his chest until there's no room for anything, even his racing heart. He considers yelling for his mom and dad, but seeing as they didn't come with him that would be no use. They've probably discovered he's gone by now and are worried sick – another unnecessary load heaped on to their pile of stress. And Kurt … well, Kurt might as well dig himself a cave in the sand because this is where he's going to live from now on.

Lost and exhausted, his feet aching and the back of his neck burning, he walks over to the stairs leading down to the beach. And even though he's not a big fan of sitting on anything thousands of human shoe soles have touched, he drops down onto the warped wood and begins to sob.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he mutters. "Whining like a baby! You're eleven-years-old, Kurt! Grow up!" He sniffs, wiping at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand.

"Hey!"

Kurt's head shoots up when he hears a voice call out. There are tons of people on the beach today, and lots of people calling _hey_, but for some reason, Kurt feels like this particular _hey_ is directed at him.

"Hey! You up there!"

The voice is closer now, but the fact that it's coming from underneath his butt pretty much cinches it. He looks down between his legs, through the space between the steps, and sees a face staring up at him.

"Jesus!" Kurt screams, leaping to his feet. He stumbles down the steps, landing on his butt in the sand.

"Oh, hey! Are you okay?"

Kurt peers into the grey-gold shadows underneath the boardwalk and sees the face with body attached running towards him.

"You lost or somethin', kid?"

_Kid_? Kurt stares at the boy wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans – at the _beach_, of all places! - thinking he can't be any older than he is. In fact, Kurt's sure he's older, if only by a day. Kurt stares at the boy in a daze, unsure what to do when he reaches a hand out to him. His parents warned him never to talk to strangers. But he's frightened and he's desperate.

And he could really use a friend.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Kurt says, taking the boy's hand, letting him help him to his feet.

"Where're your folks?" he asks, eyes sweeping the beach and the boardwalk behind them as if he's going to be able to pinpoint Kurt's parents even though he's never seen them before in his life.

"They're back at our room."

The boy beckons Kurt under the boardwalk, and whether it's a smart decision or not, Kurt follows. With the skin on his neck and scalp screaming from the heat, he needs to get out of the sun.

"You shouldn't be here alone. This place ain't exactly the safest, even in the daytime." The boy falls down onto a small blanket covering the sand and crosses his legs. He looks Kurt up and down, his lips curling. "You must be from outta town, cuz you've got fresh meat written all over you."

Kurt glances down at his shirt as if checking to see if something he didn't notice before is actually written there, and the boy smiles.

"My name's Blaine. Blaine Anderson," the boy says. His eyelids narrow as he asks, "You wouldn't have heard of me before by any chance … would you?"

"I don't think so. But you've probably never heard of me before, either." Kurt kneels on the blanket and sticks out his hand. "I'm Kurt Hummel."

"Yeah, you are!" Blaine laughs, slapping Kurt's hand instead of shaking it, and Kurt rolls his eyes. Blaine is teasing, but he's not being mean. "Maybe I can help you. I sort of live here."

"Under the boardwalk?"

"_No_. In Jersey. Where are you staying?"

"I … I don't know. It's not a hotel. It's more of a bungalow? A group of them, right off the beach. There's a fountain in the middle with a mermaid playing the flute … and it's by a restaurant …"

Blaine whistles. "You're staying at the Shore Cottages. Not too shabby. Your folks have money?"

"No," Kurt replies, taken back, wondering if giving Blaine this much information was a mistake. His father warned him that criminals often employ kids to pickpocket for them. Could Blaine be one of those? In his leather jacket and jeans, hair slicked back like James Dean, he definitely looks the part, but maybe that's a big clue that he's _not_ one. He's too obvious. "In fact, this is the first vacation we've ever taken out of state. It's the first time I've ever seen the beach." Kurt looks down at the blanket beneath his knees. It's torn and frayed, off-white in places when it should bright, and faded around the edges, burnt from the sun. Kurt has to wonder if Blaine brought this blanket with him or if he just found it here. "It's the first time for a lot of things."

"What's the big occasion?"

Kurt chews around the words before he says them, trying to make his mouth form them into something different. Something better. But he can't change reality. He can only live with it.

"My mother's sick. She's more than sick. She's … she's dying. I just found out today."

Blaine looks aghast. "You mean to tell me your folks brought you out here for your first ever summer vacation by the shore just to tell you your mom's sick?" Blaine shakes his head disapprovingly. "That's cold."

"No!" Kurt rushes to defend his parents with tears welling in his eyes. "No, that's not … they didn't tell me. I overheard my mom and dad talking, and she said a word …"

Blaine is on the brink of asking _what word_?, but the way Kurt bites his lips together and closes his eyes, as if shutting out the world might shut out the truth, Blaine already knows.

His grandfather died of cancer a few years ago. When they first found out, his mom often made that same face. But his grandfather was in his seventies. He'd lived a long, happy life, watched his children grow into adults, get married, start lives of their own.

Kurt's mother can't be older than Blaine's, and she's only in her forties.

"The thing is, I think I've known for a while," Kurt admits.

"How?"

Kurt shrugs. "In little ways. My mom started getting colds a lot, and it always takes her forever to get over them. She's tired all the time, she has these scary coughing fits, she …" He stops, feeling more hopeless now than when he left. "I don't think they know how to tell me. I think my mom and dad wanted us to have this last summer together before they had to deal with it. You know?"

"Yeah, I know." Blaine inches closer – close enough that the fingers of his left hand are only a hair or so away from Kurt's right. "That's rough. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Kurt nods into the companionable silence, gaze fixed on the ocean – calm to his eyes, but he can hear the waves crashing beneath the slope of the beach in front of him. That's how his parents have been, he realizes – calm and happy on the outside for his benefit when, on the inside, they've probably been screaming.

"How long you guys stayin' out here for?" Blaine asks.

"Two weeks. And when we get home, we're buying a house closer to the hospital where my mom's getting her care. I heard them say they're going to take me out of school, move me away from the only friends I have to some place _two hours away_! I'm going to some dumb old school called … Daiton Prep?" Kurt squints at the sunlight streaming through the slats in the wood walkway above them as he tries to remember what his father called it. "Dyson Prep? Di … Dover Prep?"

Blaine leans in questioningly. "_Dalton_ Prep?"

Kurt snaps his fingers. "That's it! Dalton Prep?" He turns to Blaine, tilting his head suspiciously. "How did you know?"

"I _live_ here, but I'm not _from_ here. I'm a Buckeye, too. From Westerville. My brother and I came out here 'temporarily' (*_air-quotes applied*_) after I won the Kings Island Variety Show."

"I've seen that!" Kurt says in awe. "They air it on TV! That must have been so exciting! You must be really talented!"

"Well …" Blaine blushes, rolling his head away so Kurt won't see "… you know, for a seasoned performer like myself, it's just another day at the office."

"So, what's your talent?" Kurt asks, but hurrying to guess before Blaine can answer. "I know! You're a tap dancer! No … a ventriloquist!"

Blaine's bashful smile crashes like the waves on the shore below them.

"No, I'm a singer. I do a mini-Elvis routine down at the Nickelodeon that brings the house down, if I do say so myself."

"A singer? Wow! I-I want to be a singer someday. Except, I want to perform in musicals."

"Do you?"

"Oh, yeah. That's my biggest dream ever!"

Blaine nibbles his lower lip, considering the boy in front of him, thinking so heavily it shows on his face. "You know, Dalton Prep is the starter school for Dalton Academy. And they have a singing group called The Warblers. They're kind of like rock stars. Scouts go to their performances and everything! Guys who've sung with them have gone on to tour, cut records, even sing on Broadway!"

Kurt's eyes go wide. "Broadway?"

"Uh-huh. It's a really good school."

"I guess … that's not so bad."

"No, it isn't. There're definitely way worse places in the world, you know."

"I do." Kurt nods soberly. "At my school, I get bullied a lot."

"There, you see? That won't happen at Dalton. They have a policy – no bullying allowed. And they're very strict about it."

"That _does_ sound nice," Kurt admits, but his gaze drops to his hands again. "But I still won't know anyone there. And … I don't make friends very easily. People seem to think I'm weird."

Blaine puts his head on Kurt's shoulder and blinks up at him ridiculously, making Kurt giggle. "You've got me. And I'm weird, too! We're a matching set!"

"Blaine! Blaine!"

"Ugh!" Blaine moans, dropping his head off Kurt's shoulder and into his sand-covered hand.

"Who … who's that?"

"The warden – a.k.a my big brother, Cooper."

"Blaine! Where the hell are ya, kid?" The boardwalk above them rattles with the weight of running feet, knocking loose sand that rains down on them. Those same feet barrel down the steps and stop not too far from them. A man wearing jeans and a white tank top spins in a full circle. He stops, brilliant blue eyes (odd to Kurt since Blaine's are hazel) staring straight at them. It must take a moment for his vision to adjust since he doesn't seem to see them right away. He throws his arms in the air when he does. "Blaine! Jesus Christ, kid, you scared the life outta me! You've really gotta stop runnin' off like that!"

"It's a good thing I did because this guy here's hella lost."

Cooper only seems to notice Kurt when Blaine mentions him. "Really?"

"Yup. And if I wasn't here, who _knows_ where he'd'uv ended up. He's not from around here."

Cooper's head bounces back and forth, deciding what to do with that information. When it reaches his right shoulder for the third time, he shrugs. "Well, ok. Let's get him back to his folks and then you and I need to go back to the theater and practice. You've got a spotlight comin' up in three days and, not to be mean or anythin', but your footwork sucks! Uh …" He shoots a guilty look at Kurt. "I mean, stinks. Sorry, kid."

"It's alright," Kurt says, mildly amused by the banter between these two siblings – one because Kurt is an only child, and two because Cooper has to be close to twice Blaine's age!

"About that …" Blaine looks down at the sand, that thoughtful look returning to his face. "I was thinking that maybe we could go back home. See mom and dad. And maybe … I could go back to Dalton?"

Cooper's jaw drops. He stares at Blaine like he suggested finding the closest sharp object and cutting off his own foot.

"I … I don't think I heard you right there, squirt," he says, side-stepping closer with a hand cupped to his ear. "Could you give me that again?"

"I said I don't want to play the Nickelodeon anymore! It's tired and it's getting old. I wanna go home."

Kurt had heard him the first time, but hearing Blaine repeat it makes his jaw drop, too. Blaine didn't necessarily make it sound like he was living the dream out here, but he gets to perform in front of audiences who pay to see him! Who in the world would give that up? And why?

But it sounds like he hasn't seen his folks in a while. Missing them might make him throw in the towel.

It would for Kurt.

"So what you're saying is you wanna leave all this behind, your whole career as a performer, to go back to boring Ohio, let mom and dad shove you in a stiff, itchy uniform, and stick you back in Dalton Prep?"

Blaine nods dramatically. "Yes, Cooper. That's exactly what I'm sayin'."

Cooper throws his hands in the air again, but he doesn't seem exasperated this time. He looks _relieved_. "Finally! God Almighty! I'm getting' so sick of Jersey! I can't wait to leave this place in my rearview! In fact, I'm marchin' right down to that roach infested shack they call a theater and …"

"Coop?"

"… tell that cauliflower-eared mutant of a manager …"

"Cooper?"

"… that the Anderson boys are done working for peanuts!"

"COOP!"

Kurt deflates into a mass of laughter when Blaine's voice cracks, which Blaine catches, and he starts laughing, too.

"Yeah, squirt?"

"Let's leave on good terms. I mean, you never know."

"What do you mean?"

"Give them two weeks' notice. Have them cut us out of the schedule slowly," he says, throwing Kurt a subtle wink. "That way we can pad our pockets a little more and spend some time on the beach. We haven't really done that since we moved out here. It'd be nice to have somethin' like a real vacation."

"Yeah …" Cooper points emphatically at his brother for his great idea. "That's the ticket, little bro. When did you get so smart?"

"I must have learned it from you, Coop," Blaine says in a deadpanned tone Kurt suspects comes from repeatedly answering this question that same way, like it's the only acceptable response.

"You're darn tootin'. Come on. Let's get your friend back to his folks and then we can work on that footwork."

"Sure thing." Blaine gets up first, taking a step or two downwind before he brushes off his jeans. "You comin', Kurt?"

"Yeah," Kurt says, doing the same. "Yeah, I'm coming."

Kurt's eyes burn something fierce when he steps out into the light, but he doesn't feel so hopeless or heavy anymore. His mom's still sick. He can't get away from that, no matter how far down the beach he walks. But now he has a friend, someone he's already shared that with, by his side. Someone he'll know when he goes to school in the fall. Which makes Kurt curious:

"Did you … do that for _me_?"

"Eh, you know …" Blaine looks over at the ocean since he can't keep the truth off his face if he tried "… I'm getting kind of tired of playing nickel and dime shows. We get practically no money. And the only way I can get any kind of a break is if I run off. It'll be nice to go home and see my old friends again …" He bumps Kurt's shoulder and smiles "… hang around with some new ones. Doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

"No." Kurt follows Blaine as he speeds ahead of Cooper, leading the way. "Doesn't sound so bad at all."


End file.
